The Menagerie
by Mister Vix
Summary: Warning: Strange. A fool in a cage, a moth with singed wings, a raven and a writing desk, a fire to jump in, an opened window, a ghost in the senses...
1. Chapter One: A Fool in a Cage

**The Menagerie

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**

Disclaimer:  
I only own my original ideas. Nothing else is mine. Bah.

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Chapter One:  
A Fool in a Cage

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Author's Notes:  
This is a confusing, strange work of fanfiction. It starts to make some sort of sense...eventually...sort of.  
The chapters stay rather short in length. I'm trying to keep this story a fun thing, instead of bogging myself down.

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The city flickered past, sights and sounds and smells all melding together into a seamless impression that spoke: _This is Los Angeles._ A strangely creeping sort of feeling accompanied the revelation, a little shiver that rippled back and forth across one's spine, barely tingling the nerves. Just outside the heavily tinted window of the limousine was L.A., and that window seemed a pathetic defense indeed against the hideous beast that breathed slowly, full of filth and crime. The noise of that outside world could catch you and sweep you off your feet in moments, and leave you with no concept of time or place, set adrift in a sea of people, of motion. A river lacking rhyme or reason, with a treacherous current that would drag you under, drown you, wave after mesmerizing wave crashing down upon your head without mercy. And there were sharks in the water, as well; sharks and eels and stinging rays, swimming all about you, just waiting for you to falter so that they might strike.

Oh yes, D greatly regretted coming here. Stretched out with apparent calmness over the luxurious seat, the elegant Chinese eighteen-year-old wished he had never gotten it into his foolish young head to go rushing off to "see the world" the moment his grandfather had at last relented to his wanton desires. He really was a fool, an impulsive, immature fool, for doing this. The only saving grace of the whole venture was that he'd had the sense to visit a city with a Chinatown area. He felt a fool in a cage, trapped by his own unthought-through decisions. What would his grandfather say if he returned, ran back to the man like a frightened child? Certainly nothing worse than he'd said in response to D's vehement request to leave his home. Really, he should simply leave this place, go back to where he belonged.

And yet, he could not quell his desires, his curiosities. Those curiosities would be the death of him yet, for, like a moth, his purple-and-gold eyes were drawn to the bright city lights. Especially this most unusual one. Those foolish, wanton desires were what led him to quietly direct the driver to stop, allowing young D out onto the deep night street, the harsh neon lights of the building goading him to enter, to see what lay beyond the outlandish exterior of the of the oddly-located place. It was nearly on the border leading into Chinatown but not quite, and stood strangely alone, its erratically decorated face offering the inquisitive little more than a vague glimpse at what wonders could be concealed within its walls. It was three stories, made of old stone, carved gothically. So utterly out of place!

Somehow, the young D, unaccustomed to city ways and exceedingly wary of such suspicious places as this, could not fight the urge to find out just what would happen if he attempted to enter. Would he be denied, possibly too young for the place? Would it be members-exclusive? Would he wish he had never set eyes upon it, if he did venture within?

Ignoring the driver's mildly concerned inquiries, D made his way towards the strange building with its far stranger allure, his steps even, as though his body was oblivious to the tumult of his mind. When he reached the green-painted steel door, the sign upon it—which he had somehow failed to notice previously—served to dispel none of his curiosity, reading simply, "Leon's Menagerie, Welcome!" painted in yellow and red letters, styled like flame. The building possessed no overall motif, as though such regularity would only dampen its bold and attention-getting surface. Licking his full, naturally painted lips in trepidation, an anxious sort of excitement filling his veins to the point it felt like tiny arcs of electricity flooded him up to the very brim, D took hold of the door's crescent-moon shaped knob and twisted. It swung silently inwards without any pressure on his part, and he stepped in. There awaiting him was a dark and silent hallway, at the end of which a single lamp, bobbing and swinging on the end of a wire loosely held on a hook before it vanished somewhere in the ceiling, showed a low desk obstructing the black door beyond. The door to the outside world swung shut behind D with a sharp, definitive _click_, and he jumped, unnevered. There was something about this simple hallway that felt...transitional. Final. Beyond here, there was no turning back.

There was a woman at the desk. Had she been there the whole time? The bobbing lamp was too untrustworthy of a light source to know for certain; D could not even tell what color the walls were in that unsteady glow. Could not even tell if there were walls at all. The woman looked up, shuffling through papers on her desk quickly, with a precise organization. She drew one document, written on charcoal-colored paper in silver ink, and laid it out before her, gesturing D to come closer. Her nails were longer than D's own, apparently dark green, and her lips were painted blue at the edges, fading into white. The young man had never seen someone in makeup such as hers, her face a rich copper tone, swiped with reds and grays of pale shade, making her look something other than human, her dark eyes watching him, blinking slowly ever now and again, eyelashes tipped with silver. Something on her skin glittered like crushed sapphires whenever she moved her head just slightly, and her hair fell in dark, feathery waves somewhere to the floor behind her. D could not tell what sort of outfit she was wearing, or if she was clothed at all—all that his mind would register was a hazy, cloudy gauze, like thick cobweb on a dewy morning.

"You're not yet a member," the woman murmured at last, her blue-and-white washed lips molding about the words over pearl teeth, her dark, tilted eyes asking questions. D felt tongue-tied, in that slowly swaying lamp, the low light playing tricks with the way the shadows fell. "I see. You're new." There was far more to that statement than D could comprehend, far more significance. "Under twenty-one...right, then. Welcome to the Menagerie, D." And then she stood, ignoring his half-gasped inquiry as to how she knew his name. She slid a key into the black door, turning it with a click that was decisive and ultimate. This was it, if he did not turn and run now he never would. With a gesture she urged him to approach the door, pulling the key back out of the lock. She grabbed his wrist and placed the heavy, dark piece of metal in his palm, folding his fingers over it and giving him a steady look. "This is yours. You'll need it if you ever want to come back." Then she opened the black door, pushed him through. And D stepped into a world that was not his own.

It was a club of some kind. Music of unidentifiable genre was played at the perfect level to become a heartbeat, a pulse, a life-giving throb that drove steadily on, carrying all motion on its flow. Lights flickered overhead, eccentric and dizzy, throwing astonishing shades of every hue in turn over the walls, the ceiling, the people who were thick enough to hide the floor from view. The room's size was uncertain, somehow seeming less and more than it could have physically been to allow the people within. The far back wall had a pair of raised, rectangular blocks of black marble. The left one was taller than the right but also not as wide. On the right dais were a pair of people, on a rich black-leather sofa, and atop the left a man was seated in an almost thronelike chair, sprawled on it easily with one arm hanging off the side. His other elbow was on the armrest, propping up his arm, holding his goblet of something, some liquid the color of crushed emerald, and tilting it one way and another idly. Though D did not know how far away this man was, for some reason there was no detail about the strange figure that escaped him; not the pale gold hair, falling past his shoulders in a shimmering cape, nor the white-and-black theatrical mask the man wore, concealing his entire face behind the tragedy-and-comedy guise. A cape of matching theme, half silver and half black, was slung to one side of him, covering his shoulder; the clasp, again, the theatrical mask, only in miniature. He wore a white shirt with ruffles at the wrists and neck, the cobweb-colored lace spilling down the front in a thick wave. A silver belt was around his waist, and his black pants were tight and form-fitting. Predictably, following the trend, one boot—which nearly up to his knee—was silver, the other was black. His nails were painted in alternating mercury-and-ebony as well. D knew, beyond a doubt, this enigma was Leon. He could be none other.Strangely, the two on the other dais remained unclear, too far away to see distinctly. The young Chinese fellow did not overly concern himself with this, however, instead turning his focus to the people.

Individuals were lost to comprehension, beyond the grasp of the world. They all were the same, they all were different, they all were beautiful. Lost, drifting amongst them, D was only mildly startled to find himself feeling completely at ease, moving through the rhythmic throng without direction. In the end, he somehow found himself at the base of the taller rectangle, looking up. From this angle he could not see the man, Leon, but he knew his position remained unchanged. The lord remained ever vigilant as he watched over his realm. Shifting through the swirling crowds, D found a place he could watch, staring up at the rectangular dais and the man seated atop it. The masked figure moved suddenly, emerald drink in hand, standing and throwing his arms out wide in a grand, sweeping gesture that instantly silenced everything, music and people. Amazingly, none of the liquid in his glass was spilled, the green stuff swiping at the sides without ever quite leaping over the brim, even when he made another emphatic gesture.

"Hello, one and all!" his voice rang out from behind the mask, a voice that encompassed and encapsuled the voice of the city itself, condensed into tones which the brain could comprehend. The mask shadowed his eyes, but D was certain—they were a crystal blue, pure and mysterious. "Welcome, this night's newcomers, to this little place. As I'm sure you're by now aware, I am Leon." He waited politely for the sudden swell of cheering to die down, casting his hidden gaze across the crowd. His eyes brushed across D, and the young man felt a small tremble work its way up his spine from the momentary attention. Once all sound had once again ceased, the masked man suddenly adopted a thoughtful pose, his free hand cupping his chin, his white boot tapping as he considered something. Then he abruptly pointed out into the crowd, directly at D. "You!" The young Chinese man started, staring wide-eyed up at Leon. "Yes, you, the one with the unusual eyes. Why don't you come up here and join me?" D could only gape for a long moment, and then, suddenly, he was being ushered forward, the pull of the crowd leading him towards the dais once more. There was a steep staircase carved in one side, almost a ladder. The blue-and-white-lipped woman from before was there, and she winked at D with a friendly but mischievous smile.

"Don't worry, kid," she murmured, "Leon always picks a random newbie to hang out with him. He'll just talk a bit, then he'll let you go." With that small reassurance, she sent D up the stair-ladder. It was a bit of a struggle to get up, especially difficult because of the clinging folds of his cheongsam, but as soon as he neared the top, the masked man reached down, pulling the Chinese fellow up beside him as though D weighed nothing at all.

It was like something straight from a classic tale, the unknowing, naïve youth lured in by the mesmerizing nature of the mysterious gentleman, caught deeply in a web beyond normal understanding.

"Hello, friend," Leon said smoothly, releasing D's wrist. "Might I know your name?" Now that he was speaking quietly, a murmur that somehow came, clear and soft, above the music which had started up again, D found he could do nothing but let his awareness be wholly absorbed and manipulated, fixated around the enigma, Leon.

"I...it is D," the young man murmured, and he felt vaguely like a moth battering itself against a lantern pane, bedazzled by the light on the other side but unable to reach it, for some mysterious barrier stood between the insect and the flame.

"Just D?" Leon inquired, and tilted his head slightly. His eyes, a dazzling shade that shamed the sky, glittered curiously, dancing in the thrown light from above. D opened his mouth, but the blonde quickly shook his head, holding up his hand in a stalling gesture. "No, do not tell me the rest. I like to preserve a bit of mystery." As if young Dcould ever havethought anything else of one so garbed! "So what do you think of the place?"

"I...have never seen anything like this before," was all D could manage, looking out at the chaotic mass of people. Then, unexpectedly, Leon's goblet was slipped into his hand, the man's fingers wrapping around his to prevent the startled Chinese man from dropping the glass.

"I know," the low murmur tickled his ear, and had the enigma not been wearing the cold mask—made of some sort of metal, D now realized—his lips may very well have brushed the young Chinese fellow's ear. Those enchanting blue eyes were amused. "So I thought I'd help you loosen up a bit." He began to lift D's hand, guiding the glass to the pale man's lips. At D's hesitant, almost fearful look, he murmured something that didn't quite register in D's mind, followed by a soft command, "Drink." What else could D do but obey?

The emerald liquid was thick and delightfully sweet, a sort of lime honey laced heavily with a sharply floral aroma, and it coated the tongue and throat, overwhelmed the senses. It was no form of alcohol; whatever it was, it was far more potent, making D feel unsteady on his feet at a mere sip. He felt as though, were he to fall—which would have been extremely likely if not for Leon's presence—he might simply drift away, and an insuppressible giddiness set all his nerves awash with warm little tingles. Taken by a sudden fancy which could barely form in his teeter-totter mind, he swung about as though looking for something, nearly losing his balance in the process. Leon's concealed expression might have been amused as he caught the stumbling D, took the mostly-full goblet from him before the Chinese man could drop it. After several minutes of laying against the enigma's chest, flushed and panting and twitching like he'd been electrocuted, D at last began to recover himself, the fog creeping out of his purple-and-gold eyes. Still, even as the ability to think returned and he pulled away from Leon, blushing, something felt off-kilter, something was different. He did not get a chance to wonder, as then the masked man laughed. It was a sound rippling and wonderful, but also with a harsh edge.

"And now, little D, the party's about over. Will you return tomorrow night?" he questioned, and the Chinese youth merely gaped at him for a long moment. Then, with an indecisive murmur, he turned away, looking at the crowd. It was thinning, people breaking off from the general throng and exiting through the same door D had come in by. How could he not return to this place, this strange sanctuary with its mysterious lord? But when he turned around, Leon was gone, leaving him on the dais alone. With a little cry, like an abandoned pet, D dared to descend the ladder-stairs, managing not to slip too badly. He worked his way through the people, now feeling lost and alone, with some strange, miserable fear working its way coldly through his insides. He was at once grateful and grieved to slip out through the black door as soon as he came to it. With a gusty sigh of unknowable regret, he looked up...and started when he realized he was outside, not in the perturbing dark hallway with its single bobbing lamp. There was his limo, waiting just beyond, and he took a hesitant step towards it. Looking back over his shoulder, his eyes went wide to see that Leon's Menagerie was now a gaunt-faced old building, with a faded sign dangling forlornly on the chipped green door; "Come back tomorrow night."

D was possessed by a sense of unreality, like he might simply wake up any moment, asleep in the back of the limo he now approached, with his driver telling him they had arrived home. But that did not occur; instead, said driver calmly opened the door for D, looking unconcerned. D was confused. Had the driver not been at all wondering as to where the young man had been?

That was when D caught a glimpse of the clock. And the final shock upon a night of shocks was enough to make him go into a daze that lasted the rest of the trip home. It had been a whole half a minute since he'd first left the limo.


	2. Chapter Two: A Moth with Singed Wings

**The Menagerie

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**

Chapter Two:  
A Moth with Singed Wings

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Author's Notes:  
**Raining Fire**, your grammatical advice is appreciated but misplaced. See, that was all Leon talking; thusly, starting a new paragraph was unnecessary, since it _wasn't_ someone else talking.

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Another day, another question of D's sanity. Well, not that he'd ever thought to question it before. But after coming across the mysterious Menagerie, the young man had found cause to wonder. Fear had made him hesitate in returning the next night. And the night after that. And every night for nearly two weeks, now. Fear of the unknown, fear that he may have stumbled upon someplace that existed outside this world. Fear of the enigmatic Leon. 

Never before had D met one person who projected so many things. Never before had D met a...a...a living _personification_ of something. This Leon, somehow, was like a living form of the city itself. A creature which mirrored L.A.'s moods and moves. In D's dreams he saw the mystery man, mask concealing all that his expression might have revealed, sweeping an ornate bow and offering that emerald-filled goblet once more, set upon a background of slowly falling stars. His golden mane was slicked down, his beautiful eyes sparkled with hidden laughter. His cape was held out, shimmering in the delicate light, and the lace on his shirt was red instead of gray, and it looked as blood, fountaining in a perfectly frozen pattern from his throat, his wrists.

Every time D awoke from that dream, it was to a cold, trembling sweat, his breathing heavy and his body tensed. Somehow he thought that Leon might have said something in the dream, but he did not know what it was; unintelligible, or foreign, or inaudible. Or perhaps merely forgotten. Something of that sort. But somehow, it didn't quite make sense.

The biggest fear that stalled D from returning to that place, however, was the fear that, if he went back to the Menagerie, he would find nothing. That there would be nothing there, just a decrepit old building, empty and broken. What would that mean? That all of it had been simply a bizarre, enchanting dream? No. It could not have been. For, held now in D's slender fingers, was the heavy black key he'd been given. They key which would grant him access to the Menagerie. It _had_ to be real. Either that, or he was completely mad, in which case it mattered not.

That night, D did not sleep. He left the place where he had taken up residence—"home" was not his word for it—as silently as a stalking cat, though he was not certain why he took such pains to be stealthy. Surely, going through the city at night was foolish, but what other choice did he have? Traveling through alleys, he was nearly to the edge of Chinatown, nearly within sight of the building he sought, into that strangely empty region where, somehow, the city population was simply absent, when there was a whisper nearby. A ghost of sound. Immediately D whirled, and found himself face-to-face with a theatrical mask of metal, behind which blue eyes gleamed sharply.

"I thought I might find you out here," the city's voice murmured quietly. "Never could stay away forever. Though you've tried." D could not seem to get thought to flow properly, mouth hanging open as he took a shaky step away. He was not so certain he did not still fear this man, this mystery.

Leon's silver-and-black theme had been traded for blue-and-red, a blood-colored shirt with indigo lace, sky-colored pants and a cherry belt, one red boot and one blue. Somehow, the ridiculousness of the police-siren theme did not effect the city's personification, with his navy-and-scarlet cape fluttering in a wind it must have imagined for drama's sake. His mask alone remained unchanged.

"Ah—ah—Mr. Le—" the Chinese man began uncertainly, but the man held up his hand, shaking his head. There was a chuckle in his eyes, in his voice.

"Just Leon," he advised, and D finally closed his mouth, and wondered. Why was one man, one enigma, upsetting him so much? D's own grandfather was quite unusual at times, quite mysterious. But then, there was little mystery about him to D, even if others did not know. "What's the matter, kid? You look like you've seen a ghost." Amusement was rich in his voice at that, and the extensive silence did not seem to bother the masked man in the least. His words seemed strangely more accurate than they should have been. A ghost. A ghost?

"I thought..." D could not quite voice what he thought, that somehow Leon was as much a fixture of his domain, of the Menagerie, as the dais on upon which his throne rested. The idea was stupid, of course. This man was not special simply because he wore a mask. He was still a man. ...A ghost?

"I'm not slacking off my job," he replied with a laugh. "I'm just going there, actually. It's not open just yet, you know. Care to join me?" D blinked a few times, trying to recover himself. Why did he seem to have no center of balance whenever he thought of the man in the theatrical mask? It was asthough...the... The notion struck D quite unexpectedly, as he followed the man in the actor's clothes, watching his silken gold hair rippling across his shoulders as he walked. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, oh, dear. That could not be. That could _never_ be. Could it? D knew he was young and foolish, but that was too much, even for him! What would his grandfather say? He would certainly be far from pleased. His grandchild could not—the young D could not—...but D could already see the futility of it. He had no more hope of escaping this than a moth had a lantern. His grandfather always held quite a faith in the concept of fate; surely the man would understand that the situation was completely out of D's hands?

But that, of course, left the Chinese youth with a very major problem. That problem being the object of all this distress; Leon. The man was so very like the city he lived in; you could be as close as you liked and still not touch it, could never reach out and take hold of it. It was simply something else, something not for man to have. And D was not even from America; he could never hope to...

It was with a start that the young man realized Leon had stopped, as had he himself. The reason became clear a moment later; he held a corner of the blonde's cape in his hand, had caught it without even being aware. Quickly, D released it, jumping back and blushing furiously. He could get no words out, not in the face of that utterly hidden expression, the unreadable mystery in those eyes. He felt the absurd urge to reach out and remove that mask, to see the true face of the Menagerie's enigma.

"I see," was all Leon said, before turning and continuing onwards. "Come." What could D do but follow? The city's personification, the shielded flame that captured the delicate moth and tempted it with what it could not reach, arrived at last at the hollow, dreary face of the building his domain resided within. He stood a long moment, apparently deep in thought, and then he walked over and tugged on one ornamental carving set into the wall. Rather than simply resisting his pull, or coming off in his hand, it swung to the side, and there was some form of panel or something of the like. D could not get a clear look at it, what it was, only watching as Leon's fingers nimbly worked over the strange panel. He mumbled a little to himself as he did so, debating over what should go where. D took the time to just watch, and try to see how the mask was held on at all; he could see no sort of tie anywhere, but it would have been easy to hide amongst Leon's thick blonde hair.

D felt strange. He knew he should have felt helpless and hopeless, perhaps frustrated and frightened as well. He was virtually alone in a great city, and now, it seemed, tangled up in a mystery of some kind, bordering on the supernatural. No, past bordering. And yet he felt none of what he should be feeling. He was simply there, a spellbound young man, in a land he did not understand, with a stranger who had enchanted him. Like a character from a fairy tale. That was what all this was like; it was all like a fairy tale, like it could never possibly be real. Leon was the prince, high above everyone, and D was the foolish young romantic who dreamed only for what was completely beyond reach. Only those stories often ended with the two happily together, despite the historical impossibility. There would likely be no such ending here, in the streets of L.A.

And then D was drawn from his morbid musings, for suddenly, inexplicably, the front of the Menagerie burst into vivid, colorful life. One moment there existed naught but a dilapidated, ruined shell of an old building; the next, the place was in full bloom, its unpredictable decorations a dizzying myriad of themes all thrown into a haphazard coexistence. Leon chuckled at D's amazement before going to the steel door—now a maroon color—and unlocking it. He vanished inside, and D rushed in after him, suddenly afraid the man might really disappear from existence. And afraid of being alone on the night streets.

When D went through the door, it was not into the dark hallway, or even into the club proper. It was into a bizarre place that was one quarter sitting room, one quarter kitchen, one quarter electronics board, and one quarter dressing room. There were not even the roughest of section dividers; one part simply blended into the next with total disregard for boundaries.

"Whenever I vanish from the dance room," Leon informed, startling D, "I usually go here." He was standing in the kitchen quarter, and he had a large crystal goblet in one hand, a bottle filled with dark emerald liquid in the other. D watched the bottle in a sort of trance, distinctly remembering that stuff from the first night; it was almost black, save for where the light caught, sending flecks and streaks of pure green through it. Leon's eyes were wholly on D as he filled the goblet to its very brim, setting the bottle on a counter out of the way. He motioned for the young man to approach, and D did so slowly, hesitantly. He still recalled what had occurred after he had just a small sip of that sweet, syrupy drink, and he was not so certain he wanted a repeat. It had not been unpleasant, but...so strange...

"What is it?" D asked finally, standing just outside arm's reach of Leon. A smile glittered in the man's vibrant blue eyes.

"The only thing fitting," he said simply, and then closed the distance between D and himself, putting a steadying arm around the youth's shoulders as he held the filled glass against D's lips, which were parted slightly in surprise. "Drink." Again, the young man with the mismatched eyes could do nothing but obey, swallowing a mouthful of the rich lime honey. The taste and scent seemed to clog his mind, make his thoughts halt where they were. He was barely aware of anything real at all by the time he'd drank half the glass, and it was pulled away from him. He could not really resist, though he felt a vague urge to. Too disoriented to protest. He merely blinked slowly a few times as his legs attempted to fold up beneath him, lack of comprehension written clearly across his pale face as he dropped limply into the masked man's arms. D's body was a twitching, shivering thing, hot and cold licking across his skin too fast for him to tell one from the other. His expression was confused, but his mind was too bombarded to even wonder, swimming in a mess of sensations which moved with a sort of jerky crawl. Gradually things began to bleed together, starting to return to a semblance of natural perception, as, with impressive sluggishness, the taste of lime honey faded from his tongue. As the concept of reality slowly began to have meaning once more, D became aware of the fact that he was cradled in a pair of strong, protective arms, supporting his body like he was a fragile newborn. He could not seem to seize control of his still-shuddering limbs, even when the realization finally came to him that it must be Leon's arms in which he rested. He felt like he had just returned from somewhere very far away, and he still needed to recover from the trip. For just a moment, from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a slow-falling star glitter as it drifted downwards. But there was something so very strange about the way it moved...

"Leon..." he hissed finally, testing and successfully order his body to obey at last, "...what was...that?" But there was no reply, and as he blinked to clear his clouded vision, he slowly began to realize that he was nowhere near the Menagerie. Nowhere near Leon. He was in his own bed, and quite alone. A frantic look around revealed nothing at all...except that, while he lay on his own bed, in his own room, what covered him was not his own blanket. It was a two-toned silk cape, blue and red. The living personification of the city had returned him to his home. But how had he known where it was? And why had he? There were no answers, and D felt a moth indeed. For he knew he would return to the Menagerie, sooner or later, and would again attempt to find a way into the transfixing flame of that beautiful lantern. No matter it would burn off his wings.


	3. Chapter Three: A Raven and a Writing Des...

**The Menagerie

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**

Chapter Three:  
A Raven and a Writing Desk

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Author's Notes:  
Huzz-ah. Okay, **Xiao Zang Hou**, so it's my grammar that sucks. Oh well. This is only here for those who want to read it as it is.  
**Calico Avangi**, yaaaay! Excuse me while I hyperventilate with _joooy!_ You are one of the Great PSoH Awesome Peoples, thusly, like a proper mini-author, I worship.

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Things were becoming intolerable. This could not go on. Again, D had spent some time—a week—refusing the unyielding desire to slip out at night, to make his way again to the Menagerie. He could not do that. He did not trust himself. He did not trust Leon. After all, the man had... commanded him. And he had obeyed without question, and he did not even know what the emerald liquid was..._The only thing fitting_. What was that supposed to mean? What was in that stuff that made him completely lose it whenever he so much as took a sip? And why...why did Leon keep forcing it down D's throat? And why didn't D fear him horribly for it? There could be nothing good to come of some strange concoction given to him by a stranger. His grandfather had certainly told him enough stories of... But most troubling of all, what was it about the strange man that kept D entranced? A living personification of Los Angeles...but who was he, really? This Leon, where did he go during the daylight hours, the times when he did not take up his haunt in the Menagerie? Where does the mysterious prince vanish to when not overseeing his throne, in what hidden garden does he spend his time? D had determined to find out. He supposed he could simply ask, but Leon had already informed him that he enjoyed keeping things mysterious.

The semi-dark of the city streets was always disconcerting to D, the way it could be lightless without truly being dark. The washed-out look of everything, the way the shadows pooled in the corners, warping and distorting the apparent lay of the streets, turning them into some sort of nightmarish construct of silence and stone and steel. Nevertheless, the young man found his way inevitably to the place he sought; the Menagerie, fully alive and ready for its patrons. D stood back and watched, a fascinated light to his two-tone eyes, as people emerged from the half-dark, drifting out of the swollen shadows like phantoms.

"Hey there, kid," came the whisper from behind him, and he whirled, coming face-to-face with the woman from the front hall. Now her makeup was themed in black and red, and she was smiling her odd but friendly smile. The young Chinese man backed a few quick steps away, for he had been nearly pressed against her, she had appeared so close. Now her outfit was greenish leather, tight and molded over her body. It seemed like such an outfit would have to be terribly uncomfortable, but no sign of it showed on her face, or in the way she moved. Her dark eyes caught D's, and she smirked, but it was a strangely concerned expression. If that was at all possible, for a smirk to seem also concerned.

"I can see why." She could see why what? D flinched away when the tips of her nails brushed across his skin, stumbling backwards. Her dark eyes were alight in the most curious of ways; she was watching him from someplace else, it seemed. Some vantage that afforded her knowledge and perception well beyond his own, leaving him to beg to receive second-hand.

"You're in his pocket, now. You always were, I suppose...but you can still call me if you need my help. I know you'll make the smart choice. I'm Tin, just shout if you need me." And she walked away, not to the Menagerie but simply away, making no sound. D watched her go as a rabbit will watch a receding hawk, wondering, in its panic-stricken mind, why it has been spared.

So focused was he on her vanishing form, on the woman sliding back into the shadows like a snake slipping into dark waters, he almost didn't notice the curiosity that approached him. It was a bird, a very black bird, and it sat perched near him without fear, watching him. With a harsh croak, the raven drew D's attention.

"What?" was all D asked, now looking down at the black bird. It tilted its head to stare up at him, beady eyes glittering. With a few not-quite-ungainly hops and a quick snap of its ebony wings, it fluttered up and caught its talons in the fabric draped over D's shoulder, perching there like it belonged. The young man made no move to chase the bird away; the raven had simply slipped from his awareness, as though it had ceased to exist. It flicked its tail to balance itself as D, with a sort of glazed-over intent, entered the Menagerie.

The lights, the heat, the sound, all these things drove the numbed confusion out of D's mind. He had returned, and he belonged here. He did not know why. He did not know how this had come to be. He just felt so strongly that he belonged here, it was almost too much, as he wove amongst all the bodies moving rhythmically with and against one another. No one took any notice of the young man withthe bird on his shoulder; far stranger had already been seen.

There. There, up and seated on his throne, was Leon. His hands were folded beneath his chin, and he was slouched lazily. His theme, this night, was green and gray; a forest shirt with smoky lace, a charcoal-and-lime cape, dove pants and an emerald belt, one boot pearl and the other seafoam. His mask was still its traditional silver-and-black, and his eyes were ever-watchful behind it.

The two on the lower dais were there again as well, and now, closer, D could see them. A pair of men, of an age that could not be guessed at—they looked young but very old. They were identical, which was a bit perturbing, as they were wrapped in one another's arms. Albinos, the both of them, with large, piercing red eyes and colorless hair that was long enough to pool on the floor beneath the couch. Both wore cream-colored outfits, unextravagant, with white sandals. The only difference between them was that one was relaxed, lounging on the sofa with his arms around the other, who was tense and fidgety. Where the first's gaze was calm, the second's was nervous and fearful. The calm one was slowly stroking his twin's hair, keeping the high-strung one at least somewhat reassured. And his eyes were fixed, with a sort of lazy curiosity, on D.

The young man had been so absorbed, so disturbed by the sight of the brothers holding each other with such indecent intimacy, that he'd never noticed Leon's approach. Not until the man laughed softly, just behind him, did D start with the realization that the strange man had left the dais. The people around him simply parted and made room, without so much as breaking rhythm.

"A little bothered by Lare and Tane? They're harmless, I assure you. Why don't you go and talk to them? Tane is rather timid, but I believe they would enjoy your company." And then, just as when he had been summoned to Leon's dais, the crowds seemed to be urging D onwards, carrying him towards the smaller dais.

For a moment, unbeknownst to D for he was already well out of hearing range, the woman from the front desk ghosted up to Leon's side, idly fingering the silk of his shimmering cape.

"You know what will happen," she said quietly. Leon nodded. "They are not the best choice." Another nod. "You do not care, do you? Cruel thing. You never cared." The mysterious blonde fixed the woman with a steady glare.

"You could never hope to understand," he hissed, voice quiet. "But Lare does." Tin pursed her lips in annoyance, crossing her arms before her.

"Lare knows everything that could go wrong," she pointed out, and he only shrugged.

"I have waited for so very long, Tin, and I will wait longer still if need be. _If_ need be," and then he strode away, vanishing amongst the people.

D had just reached the top of the lower dais, standing uncertainly, very uncomfortable in the presence of these two. Lare had a vague smile on his face, and Tane looked ready to bolt, seemingly only held back by the way his twin's limbs were wound about him.

"Hello, little D," Lare said, gesturing with his free hand for the Chinese fellow to come closer. D, however, did not move. The raven on his shoulder ruffled its feathers. He did not notice.

"Leon told you my name," he guessed, voice a hiss. The only reply was a slight widening of that smile, and a repeat of the beckoning gesture. D took a hesitant step forward. Tane watched him like a mouse might watch a viper. "You are...Leon's friends?" Tane made a little noise.

"Ssh," Lare murmured to his twin, before looking back up at D and shrugging. "Tane has not had a pleasant life as of late. Anyway, yes, we are Leon's friends. Perhaps the closest he has anymore, truly..." He made that little gesture again, and finally D found himself standing beside the couch, and then sitting down on the black marbled surface, folding his legs beneath him. Everything seemed so beyond his control as of late, even his own actions...and with how strange things had been getting, why not a pair of incestuous albinos?

"A...a lovely bird..." came a meek, barely-there whisper. Tane looked uncomfortable, like perhaps he thought he should not speak, but his eyes kept drifting to the raven perched silently upon D's shoulder. "He must be perfectly trained to be so well behaved in such a place. Have you had him long?"

The young man was startled to realize the bird was there, and Tane chuckled. Or giggled, more like, a whispery, childish sound that made him seem very young and sickly, a frail child stricken with some crippling illness. Suddenly D caught himself wondering at how, though Tane's arms and fingers twitched in wound-up anxiousness, his legs were limp and unnaturally still.

"Yes," Lare sighed sadly, apparently following D's train of thought, "my poor brother, as I said, has led an unpleasant life thus far. Certain events have left him quite incapable of managing on his own." He looked down at his twin with a fond, if mournful, expression. Tane appeared oblivious to what Lare was saying about him, absorbed in—very tentatively—stroking the raven's soft feathers.

"He is still recovering from his experiences. I will not bore you with the tale." Lare smiled a bit. "Now, I'm sure you're a bit upset yourself, what with all that's been happening, yes?" D only nodded, and, for some reason, he was not perturbed nearly so much as he should've been when Lare ran his long, thin fingers through the young man's deep black hair. "My advice to you, little D, is to hold onto yourself as best you can. Leon is not unkind, but he is impatient. He always has been, and nothing in the world can change him. You must be cautious about him, or he will sweep you off your feet before you are ready."

He looked down at Tane again, who looked back up at him and swallowed, turning wide, shining red eyes to meet D's gaze. That was the first time the Chinese youth had gotten to actually look into Tane's eyes, and he was frightened at what he saw there; horror and pain and misery, only slightly offset by the bit of hope.

"I... could not hold on..." Tane whispered, lowering his eyes once more. "And now Lare and I both must live with the consequences...it is only here I can feel at all sane anymore..." Lare stood, pulling his half-paralyzed brother up with him, gathering his twin in his arms before walking away. D was not paying enough attention to see where they had gone, or how they had descended the difficult stairs encumbered as they were.

He did notice, however, when Leon was suddenly beside him, crouched down and staring at him intently.

"Hello, D," he said quietly. "And goodnight. I will see you again soon." Tenderly, he wrapped his cape about D, whose eyes slid closed without protest. The raven tilted its head, hopping up and re-settling itself quickly. "Yes, I know you. Don't you dare fuck with me, or I'll make you seriously regret you came here." The only reply to Leon's threat was a harsh croak, a sharp glare fixed on the blonde, who shrugged. The bird tilted its head sharply. "Suit yourself." The bird hissed. "The feeling is mutual."

D knew already that he was in his room, his bed, with a green-and-gray silk cape draped over him. But something was different.

The harsh, dry sound made him spring up in surprise. There, on the desk, ruffling its inky feathers, was the raven, watching him with its sharply glittering eyes. It croaked ominously.


End file.
